Today I did something I hadn't done in more than a decade -- I shoveled snow, in Portland.

Shoveled ice, to be more precise. On the ground was about two inches of snow covered by one to three inches of solid ice -- so solid that a grown adult could stand on it without breaking the surface.

Given that things are supposed to thaw out tomorrow, I suppose I could have let this task ride. But I'm avoiding grading exams -- a state in which any other task is more appealing. Then my next-door neighbor shoveled his sidewalk, which really forced the issue. The lawyer in me started thinking, "The city says it's my responsibility. The neighbor did his. If somebody breaks their a*s on my sidewalk, will I be liable? Do I trust my homeowner's insurance that much?"

Man, that ice was tough to break up, and heavy to toss. Fortunately, I had my trusty big-ass shovel -- the kind Grandpa Bogdanski (my namesake) used to use to shovel the coal that heated our house when I was a kid. Ah, Grandpa -- also known (but not to us kids, officially) as "the Beak," for the big schnozz he had from his youthful days as a prizefighter.

Tomorrow, when the last dusting of snow that I left behind starts to melt, our walkway will be super-nice. I'll bask in the glow of that as I pop the Advil and dote over the hot tub.

Grandpa, stop laughing.